


Before She Left Him

by martinskki



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-23 11:10:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9653507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martinskki/pseuds/martinskki
Summary: Stiles and Lydia embark on the journey that will bond them like never before, while tearing them apart when they get to the finish line.Or, simplified as the equation:stiles and lydia + forty-one hours in a car together = one hell of a cross-country road trip





	1. Solved

_the night before- six days, eleven hours before she left him_

 

Lydia flopped down onto Stiles’ bed, rolling onto her stomach and resting her head in her hands in one swift movement. The coming week of cross-country travel, and what reaching their destination would mean, weighing heavy on her mind, her gaze floated over the four walls around her, the walls that housed her refuge- her home away from home, her life raft amongst crashing seas- not the room itself, but the person it belonged to. 

 

Two of the walls were bare now, nothing but bland gray wallpaper where posters for bands he didn’t even listen to anymore once hung. Lydia couldn’t remember the last time she’d noticed a new addition to these walls. She checked them every time she walked into his room (which led to a lot of opportunities for new posters), each glance a silent wish that, maybe, he’d taken a moment to do something for himself. Maybe, he’d come into his room, on one of the rare occasions he was alone, turned on the radio, found a new song- one with lots of bass and low voices sleepily singing, his own niche favorite genre- and let himself get lost in it; let his mind wander away from the constant clicking and turning of the wheels in his brain, and his body rest, his muscles free of tension, his eyes closed, the darkness inviting rather than frightening. 

 

Lydia felt Stiles’ bed shift, and her train of thought shifted tracks as she felt her boyfriend’s arm slip around her middle and his lips bouncing off of her cheek repeatedly, something he did regularly when he caught her in moments of solace thought, willing her to snap out of it. She let out a weak laugh, leaning into him, letting his hold on her take her over, mindful of the heat radiating through her abdomen, like his palm was the sun, each millimeter of her skin a patch of sand, her whole body a beach before she knew it- warm, serene, and romanticized. 

 

His lips were on her neck now, and she could feel him smile into her skin, encouraging her to paint a grin across her own face. She rolled onto her back, moving her hands from her face to their home around his neck. She teased the hair at the base of his neck, soliciting a smirk from him, before sliding her fingers through his messy brunette locks, the way she’d found weakened him the most. His smirk faded into something straighter before he dropped his mouth onto hers, kissing her with that same hunger he’d had since their first, like hidden somewhere on her lips were the answers to every problem that kept the same old posters on his wall.

 

“Wait…” Lydia murmured during a break for breath, both of their chests heaving much quicker than normal. “Did you finish packing?” 

 

Stiles blinked, his lips still puckered, hovering inches away from her mouth, twitching to get back to it. “Mhmm.” He was kissing her again, hungrier, if even possible.

 

Lydia slid her hands down to the sides of his neck, her thumbs on his cheeks, giving in to the heat for a second before slightly pushing him away. “On the phone you told me you still had to empty your dresser.” He gravitated back down to her neck in the time it took her to speak, her skin and his lips like opposite ends of a magnet. “You know we have to pick up the U-Haul at eight in the morning.” She reminded him of their travel plans, unwilling to give up on their strict schedule before the trip had even begun.

 

“We have all night…” Stiles mumbled, nibbling her earlobe now. Jesus, he made being the responsible one so difficult. 

 

She grabbed his shoulders, flipping him onto his back, planting her knees firmly on either side of his waist, the skirt of her dress fanning out onto his stomach. “Exactly. So, we’ll pack now…” Lydia lowered herself onto him slowly, her voice all edges and suggestion. She stopped when their lips were inches apart, close enough for their breaths to mix into a cloud of desire. “…and kiss later.” She only pecked him before peeling her body from his and hopping off of the bed, grinning with the satisfaction of leaving him with something to look forward to.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The other two walls of Stiles’ room were still covered in one of Lydia’s favorite things about him; the intricate workings of his mind. The walls were a visual representation of his deep-rooted need to figure everything out, the red string that connected countless newspaper clippings, pictures and drawings of supernatural creatures, and random Post-It notes a physical manifestation of his insatiability with his work; there was always more- more to be done, more to discover, more people to save. It was exhausting and relentless, but it’d fallen on their shoulders for a reason, and Lydia ran her fingers over the thread as she thought to herself how she’d go through a thousand more spools of red string if it lead to fighting dragons by his side for a lifetime.

 

“You know I’m never letting him take this down, right?” She spoke into the wall, her question bouncing off of it. 

 

“You mean my dad? I doubt he’ll even want to mess with it. The man still doesn’t know the difference between a berserker and a dread doctor.” She heard a drawer close, followed by another one opening.

 

Lydia spun to face him, the length of her strawberry blonde mane rustling a couple of sketches hanging nearest her. “Do you?” She raised an eyebrow teasingly, her lips pursed in question, languidly strolling in his direction.

 

“Ha ha…” Stiles began, abandoning his work as he watched her approach him. “Actually…” He scrunched his eyes in confusion. “…the lines between those two are kinda fuzzy.” 

 

Lydia licked her lips playfully, shoving a cardboard box out of her way as she took her rightful spot next to him. She reached into the drawer he’d deserted, retrieving a tie-dye t-shirt, holding it up in front of him, revealing the fact that it was about two sizes too small.

 

“Why don't you ever wear this?” She teased, tossing it into the pile Stiles had marked as “Shit I should've gotten rid of five years ago”. 

 

“Oh, now you decide to help.” He rebutted. 

 

Lydia shrugged. “The other drawers were too high.” She bit back a grin threatening to creep across her face. 

“Uh huh.” Stiles agreed sarcastically before she felt a kiss land on her temple, and she leaned into it, savoring the effortlessness of the moment; it was too easy, being with him. She found herself waiting for the hard part, anxiously anticipating the moment things inevitably got complicated.

 

She watched him survey the piles of his belongings growing around their feet. “I think we’re gonna need a couple more boxes.” He understated, turning on his heel, leaving Lydia to smirk at the back of his flannel catching the air as he left the room.

 

Lydia glanced down into the drawer again, her eyes landing on...her eyes. She was grinning up at herself from the bottom of the wooden drawer, standing behind Stiles, her arms tangled around his neck, as they always seemed to be. She was squeezing his face to make him smile, his hickory irises barely noticeable under the scrunch. They were both obviously laughing, and the picture was slightly blurry, as if taken by accident. 

 

The background was unrecognizable to the naked eye, but Lydia remembered the moment like it was just happening: they were sitting at their lunch table at school, on their last day of senior year. Stiles had been pouting about missing three months of it all day- “ _Therefore ruining his last day and obliterating the point he was trying to make.”_ \- Lydia recalled arguing as he sulked, hanging over him as he flipped through his yearbook, tapping her fingers down his chest as he frowned at all of the events he’d missed. “ _We basically missed them all too..”_ , she’d poked his cheek, _“…looking for you_. _Don’t cry…”_ , she’d pleaded, and that’s when she’d squished his face, morphing it into a smile, grinning down at him before she noticed Scott holding up his phone. She remembered flashing him the smile she saw staring back at her now, and feeling Stiles’ fake grin stretch into a real one under her hand; Scott was beaming at the sight, laughing at the pair, the shaking of his hands becoming part of the beauty of the moment that was now fossilized in front of her. After the fact, Lydia didn’t give the picture a second thought, but simply filed away the silly memory to come back to on a day she would need to remember it.

 

Her fingers grazed the edges of the photo, picking it up slowly, as if it were a precious artifact, something belonging in a museum. She heard, rather than saw, Stiles pad back into the room, and finally tore her eyes away from the scene as she spoke. “You never told me you got this printed.”

 

Stiles dropped his new boxes on the floor, stepping toward her to examine her findings. “Oh, that.” Lydia watched him fluster, his lips turning up in that awkward side smile he did when he was caught off guard. “Well, I uh, didn’t have any pictures of us together…” He began, stumbling a bit over his words, staring down at the glossy paper. “And, I don’t know, it just…says a lot about us.” 

 

Lydia simpered, raising an eyebrow, more curious than suspicious. “How so?”

 

“Well...because, in that moment, the last thing I wanted to do was smile. I was being ridiculous, and you…made me smile…you _make_ me smile.” Stiles’ side-smile shifted forward, and he seemed to ground himself in her gaze, his footing caught in her eyes, no longer stumbling. “Literally.” He capped off the moment with a joke, like he was signing his signature on the adoption papers to her heart. 

 

Amidst the cheesiness of it al, Lydia felt her simper soften into the vulnerable, heartened expression that had been painted on her face so often when around Stiles. She felt as if, normally, she was an oil painting- beautiful, but rigid, raised from the surface- and in moments like this, her face was a color palette, Stiles’ words a tranquil rain, and she faded into a watercolor masterpiece- soft, inviting, and almost transparent in spots.

 

She raised herself onto her tiptoes, kissing him, to simply put it, but she would call it a speech without words, everything she wanted to say being uttered by her lips, yet with no sound escaping them.

 

When they finally broke apart, they hovered in each other’s arms for a moment, and Lydia thought of nothing but the heat between them until Stiles broke the silence. “So, do you want a copy, or…?” 

 

Lydia giggled, shoving him away from her in the direction of his dresser, spinning andlooking down yet again at the photo still in her hands. She did want a copy. She wanted ten, twenty, three-hundred copies, and to put them all in different places she knew she’d see them throughout the day.

 

She lowered the photo, now peering at the still-covered-in-supernatural-mysteries walls that had seemed to morph into one under the commotion. The red string seemed wrong, now, as something swelled in her stomach, encapsulated her being, and she held up the photo to compare the feeling of it to the mess of her boyfriend’s mind in front of her; _solved_. That was the difference. Her and Stiles, their being together, the finality of them, always them- that was solved. _They_ were solved, and it so greatly contrasted the open-ended nature of the wall that she couldn’t stand it.

 

“Stiles, you own green string, right?” She questioned, an idea striking her with compulsion to carry it out.

 

Stiles huffed, and Lydia knew from experience that an eye roll followed. “Yes, I own green string. I’ve just never gotten to use it, you know-“

 

“Where is it?” She cut him off, ignoring the invitation to banter, a rare occurrence that seemed to throw him.

 

“Uh, right here.” Stiles pursed his lips in confusion, bending down to the bottom drawer of his dresser and opening it, yanking a spool of bright green string from its depths. 

 

Lydia crossed the room, smirking at him in satisfaction as she plucked the string from his hand. She rummaged around his desk for scissors, eventually finding a pair, as well as tape, in a mug disguised as a pen holder. 

 

“Lydia what are you-“ 

 

“Shh, wait.” She pointed the directions at him without lifting her eyes from her work. In seconds, she’d measure out a section of string about half the length of the desk, snipping it from the spool with the scissors. 

 

Lydia dragged Stiles’ desk chair to the wall, climbing onto it carefully, wobbling a bit as the wheels shifted.

 

“Lydia!” Stiles exclaimed, and Lydia could hear him rush forward to support her, but stopped him short with a hand outstretched behind her as a warning. 

 

“Stiles, I’ve got this. Just hand me the tape and the string.” She instructed him firmly, and he obliged, yet still rested a large hand on the small of her back after giving her the supplies. 

 

Lydia taped one end of the string to the very middle of the collage of mysteries, the epicenter of the catastrophe. Then, standing on her toes yet again, and suddenly grateful for the warm support behind her, she taped the picture of them together above it all, away from the chaos, their smiling faces flashing like Christmas lights amidst the dull gray background.

 

Finally, Lydia picked up the other end of the dangling string and connected it to their photo, the green line now a path from the center of their world for the past two and a half years- kanimas, dark spirits, dread doctors, ghost riders, and everything in between that kept them up at night, surrounding them, right there in the middle of it all- to what their world looked like now, and what it was going to look like from now on, no matter if, or when, they got involved in another supernatural adventure. Their world was them, and it was as solved as solved could get.

 

Lydia hopped down, leaning into Stiles’ hand, and then into him as she admired her work. “I just thought you needed to see what green looked like up there.” She looped her arm around his waist, resting a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat; it was fast, even for him.

 

Stiles grabbed her hand as it hit him, rubbing circles into the back of it, completely engulfing it in his own. “Lydia, I…”

 

“We figured something out.” She declared, gaping up at him, admiring his awestruck look, and the fact that she was the one who put it there.

 

“This is definitely the cheesiest thing you’ve ever done.” Stiles joked, yet the way he was looking at her was the furthest thing from funny. She was pretty sure she’d never get used to being looked at with this kind of affection; the kind that was gratitude, and awe, and disbelief, and fondness, all wrapped up in one, world shifting expression. He leaned down and planted his lips on hers, clearly at a loss for what else to say; abandoning words for actions seemed to be their thing. 

 

The kiss was soft and tender, like the answers he’d been searching for from before had been found, and they were savoring the gratification. This time, it was Lydia grinning into it, standing on her toes for the third time that night, her grip tightened around the back of his neck, desperate to deepen the embrace. She could see their movements like flashes from a camera behind her gently shut eyes- her hands were in his hair, then on his neck, then in his hair, his on her face, then tracing her jaw. And, in the biggest flash yet, his grip was on her thighs, his fingers disregarding the skirt of her dress, lifting her just enough to take a few steps toward his bed, where she fell onto her back, the impact forcing her eyes open. Staring down at her were the two chestnut irises that had seemed to burn behind hers every time she blinked, their greens and browns mixing to grow a forest over the years; not one you got lost in, but one you explored. 

 

Lydia grabbed a fistful of his flannel in each hand, pulling him to her, where he belonged, tired of not having his body on hers- of hers. 

 

“Wait, what about packing?” Stiles stopped mid-kiss, Lydia’s mouth falling into a frown at the loss of contact.

 

Lydia leaned up, her lips grazing his ear as she whispered, “We have all night.” She could feel him tremble, and grinned into his skin, just as he had earlier. 

 

Then, the flashes of movements turned into a steady beam of slowed progressions, time thrown out of the window, the pesky thing, always bugging them. Lydia Martin had approximately six days, ten hours, and fifteen minutes left with Stiles Stilinski before they were officially residents of two towns seven hours away from each other- time wasn’t exactly on their side when it came to squeezing in moments like this. Lydia was planning on showing time who was boss in the coming week.


	2. Theories to Scientific Laws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This was them: these silly moments, simple and light, yet heavy with meaning. In these blissful instances, she forgot what it was like to be a human Geiger counter for death, and was lost in what it was like to be loved and in love. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: the events that happen in each hour do not necessarily happen over the span of the whole hour! for example, everything in “hour one” happens in about 10 minutes, but it was all within the first hour. hope that all makes sense!!

_[official road trip playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/cassieiclark50/playlist/53GYLXwnOMy4OQxaz7J6sd) _

 

 

**Day 1- Destination: Ash Fork, Arizona**

 

_five days, twenty-three hours, thirty minutes before she left him_

 

Stiles bit his lip in contemplation, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel of Lydia’s car, staring straight ahead at the road in front of them, the road that split in two at the end of his driveway, forcing him to choose one way or the other. This was it- when they pulled out of this driveway, giving in, choosing a direction, and eventually rolling out of the bounds of Beacon Hills, they would no longer exist in their bubble of late nights in his room: talking, solving, _not_ talking, holding each other until the sun came up, then doing it all over again the next day. He wasn’t sure he was ready for the bubble to pop just yet.

 

“Stiles, you know you have to actually turn the car on for it to move, right?” Lydia spoke from the passenger seat, sarcasm soaking her voice. 

 

Stiles jumped a bit, forced out of his daze, then back into another when he glanced sideways at the girl next to him. She was dressed for traveling, dawning her favorite red and green flannel of his to steal _(though, was it stealing if he preferred it on her?)_ , the one that was extra-oversized, almost doubling as a blanket. Her legs were practically bare, her pajama shorts swallowed by his shirt. Her hair was in a bun, one she called messy, but to him, her strawberry-blonde ringlets had never looked better than they did when they fell beside her cheeks like this, bouncing as she moved, as if they were dancing in celebration of her. 

 

“Uh yeah, you know I’m just, thinking.” He replied, attempting to contort his mouth out of the o-shape it seemed to be stuck at anytime he caught sight of her.

 

Lydia grinned sardonically, bringing the natural flush of her cheeks to Stiles’ attention, and his lips were in an “o” yet again. “You can think while you drive. We’ve got eight hours ahead of us.” 

 

Stiles chuckled awkwardly, fumbling for the keys hanging out of the ignition. “Right, right.” He repeated, starting the car with a rumble. He gripped the steering wheel firmly, eyes glued forward, his foot hovering over the gas pedal. “Don’t you want to just, I don’t know, sit here, for a minute? Reflect?” He melted out of his stone demeanor, scrunching his eyes as he suggested she joined him in the thing he had been doing for the past five minutes. 

 

Lydia licked her lips, blinking briefly, carrying out what Stiles noticed as her routine when deciding how to deal with him. “That was what last night was for. And the entirety of the past three months.” She nodded as she spoke, underlying agitation apparent in her eyes. 

 

Stiles pursed his lips, shaking his finger at her as he agreed. “You’re right. You are right, let’s go.” He turned his attention forward again, pausing, building up the will to press his foot down on the gas pedal. 

 

“Okay, maybe if I just got us started-“ Lydia made to unbuckle, her movement blocked by Stiles’ right arm catching her left. He climbed his fingers down her forearm, fighting the fabric of his flannel to feel her, finally making contact as he caressed her hand, bringing it to his mouth, settling a peck on the back of it, her soft skin a sweet contrast to his perpetually chapped lips. 

 

“No, I’ve got this. We’re leaving. Now.” He winked at her, encouraging a disapproving head shake as he intertwined their fingers, his left arm hanging lazily over the steering wheel by its lonesome. He stepped on the gas hesitantly, creeping the car gradually down the incline towards the road, his eyes flickering to the rearview mirror, watching their packed-to-the-brim U-Haul following languidly behind. 

 

They were inches away from crossing onto the street when one last thought braked them abruptly, lurching them both out of their seat a bit. “Okay, but consider this.”

 

“Stiles!” Lydia exclaimed, dropping his hand to throw hers in the air, something he knew was always followed by an intense eye roll, probably in both directions. 

 

He turned to face her, catching the end of the eye roll he predicted as her forest-green irises landed on him, only further inspiring his aversion to popping their bubble. “If I don’t pull out of the driveway, we never get to D.C. If we never get to D.C., You never have to leave me. If you never have to leave me, we’re together forever and nobody’s sad!” He raised his eyebrows with his hands, tossing both into the air as if he had just cracked the code on some mystery they were wrestling with. 

 

Lydia raised her eyebrows as well, her expression more amused than annoyed now. “So, you’re suggesting we live in my Prius?” 

 

Stiles pressed his lips together, glancing around the vehicle. “I mean, the backseat is pretty roomy. Lots of space for…activities.” His eyebrows jumped at this, alluding to their favorite pastime.

 

Lydia dropped her gaze, her smile transforming into something seductive when she met his eyes again, Stiles’ lungs pinching as the air was sucked out of them. “Activities, huh?” She inched closer to him, pressing her elbows into the arm rest between them. 

 

Stiles nodded, leaning toward her instinctively. “Uh huh.” He was staring at her lips, licking his own, using the part of his brain that wasn’t absolutely drowning in the situation to focus on keeping his foot on the brake. 

 

Lydia swooped away from his lips, landing on his ear instead. “You want to know what turns me on, Stiles?” She spoke against him, her lips grazing his earlobe as her breath seemed to slip down his neck, warming his whole body. 

 

“What?” He grunted, sure they were seconds away from rolling onto the street and into the neighbor’s yard as he felt the focused part of his brain fade into black. 

 

She let out a low chuckle, grabbing him by the jaw on the side of his face that wasn’t occupied by her mouth. “Punctuality.” She pecked the skin next to his ear, patting his cheek as she fell back into her seat.

 

Stiles smirked at her in disbelief, nodding as the word caught up to him. “Right, got it. Pulling out.” He laughed at his accidental innuendo, shifting his foot from the brake to the gas, and not stopping again unless a sign or light prompted him to.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Hour One**

_five days, twenty-three hours, twenty minutes before she left him_

 

 

They had just turned out of Stiles’ neighborhood when a buzzing noise made them both jump, the sound mixed with a rattle against something made of metal.

 

Lydia raised her hand to her heart at the fright, scanning her seat and the floorboard. “Where the hell is my phone?” She sighed, raising Stiles’ flannel from her skin as if the phone was hidden under the heap of fabric. 

 

She checked the glove compartment, though she was pretty sure she hadn’t opened the thing since she purchased her car. _Nope._ She leaned over the armrest, rummaging through the bags of snacks and books in the backseat, thinking maybe she dropped it in one amidst her frantic packing earlier that morning _(“we have all night” turned into “shit it’s six in the morning” much faster than she had anticipated)_. _Nope._ Finally, she shoved her hand between her seat and the armrest, thinking she really needed to deep clean her vehicle as soon as she got to MIT, when _bam_ , her fingers found the cool screen of her phone, and it buzzed again under her touch.

 

She dug her arm out of the rift, blowing a loose curl out of her eyes, glaring at her boyfriend, who had been enjoying the show. “I must have dropped it while attempting to get us out of your driveway before the sun went down.” Lydia resolved, deadpan, hearing her boyfriend release a soft puff of air from his nose, obviously still enjoying the show. 

 

She directed her attention to her phone, finding what the buzzing was about.

 

**Scott:** _You guys finally off?_

**Scott:** _jk I know you are. Pack group chat. Sharing locations._

 

Lydia chuckled, turning to Stiles. “Remind me to stop sharing my location with the pack chat.” 

 

Stiles’ brows furrowed, his gaze shifting rapidly from the road, to her, lingering a little too long on the latter. “No way, we’ve gotta stay connected. Supernatural disasters can happen anywhere, not just Beacon Hills.” 

 

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him, almost positive his actual reasoning leaned more toward his personal need to keep tabs on their friends than safety, but, watching the light skip across his face like flashes from a camera as it passed through the trees, she was sent back to hours earlier, when it was just him and her and their mutual need to memorize each other, and she decided she agreed with him. 

 

**You:** _Ha_ _yeah, we’re still in BH though. Why didn’t you just text in the group?_

**Scott:** _Because I didn’t want to be made fun of when I said I love you guys._

 

She couldn’t help but crack a smile at the message, moving to share it with Stiles before she saw Scott’s chat bubble pop up, indicating he was typing again.

 

**Scott:** _And if you idiots aren’t safe I’ll wolf out and personally come beat the hell out of you._

 

Lydia laughed, her chuckles bouncing out of her in beats of gratitude as she typed back, knowing Stiles was definitely officially confused at her behavior. 

 

**You:** _Stiles would probably enjoy that. I know the “I miss Scott”s will start as soon as we pass that stupid “You are now leaving Beacon Hills” sign._

 

“What are you laughing at?” Stiles shifted in his seat, craning his neck, trying to peer over her shoulder.

 

“Scott. He said he loves us. Eyes on the road!” She pointed ahead of them, her finger inches away from his cheek, and he faked biting it before following her directions. 

 

“Tell him I miss him already.” Stiles instructed, vigilantly watching the back of the semi truck in front of them. 

 

Lydia giggled again, her fingers moving across her screen as she spoke. “I kind of already did.” 

 

**You:** M _y prediction was off. “I miss Scott” count: 1. Probably out of a million._

 

“What do you mean? What is he saying?” Stiles whined, stomping his free foot, keeping his eyes directed ahead as he was told. 

 

**Scott:** _“I miss Stiles” count: 1_

**Scott:** _2_

**Scott:** _3_

**Scott:** _Probably out of 2 million_

 

“He said he misses you too. Three times. Can you stop pouting now?” Lydia pleaded, watching her boyfriend’s lips turn up at the ends, her own doing the same.

 

**You:** _The message has been relayed. Also, when he’s not driving, I’d appreciate you two doing this on your own time._

**Scott:** _Aye aye captain_

**Scott:** _Also, for the record_

**Scott:** _“I miss Lydia” count: 1_

**Scott:** _2_

**Scott:** _3_

**Scott:** _Probably out of 3 million._

**You:** _Aw_

**You:** _For the record, my own personal “I miss Scott” count has been going up since yesterday._

**Scott:** _Aw x2. I expect a call soon._

**You:** _You got it. and Scott?_

**Scott:** _Yeah?_

**You:** _We love you too._

**_Scott:_ ** _Aw x3_

 

Lydia’s smile was still painted across her face, firmer now, even, as her eyes danced from Stiles’ own smirk to the buildings passing behind his head, all of them simply blurs of color, splotches of paint mixing together, except for one: the _Beacon Hills High School_ sign stuck out as if it were glowing ahead of them, and she felt the car slow as Stiles noticed too. 

 

She didn’t object to the hesitance this time, and they were silent as they both studied the space; Lydia’s eyes gravitated to her usual parking spot, which was empty, along with the rest of the lot, but she could picture it when it was full- the whooshing of cars zooming by, the huddles of friends loitering, pushing their luck, waiting until the last possible second to walk in. She could imagine herself sitting where Stiles currently was, using the mirror on the sun visor to reapply her lipstick, peeking out from behind it, waiting for him. Strongest of all, though, Lydia could hear the low hum that always seemed to hang over the place, that apparently only she was aware of. She liked to think it was the energy of all of the young lives gathered in one place, so much future ahead of them that it created something separate from them, something that was the opposite of death. That’s what she liked to think. 

 

“You know, I told Scott, they still need us.” Stiles punctured the silence, his thoughts obviously mirroring hers _(a pattern, in moments like this, she’d noticed)_ , as the school faded out of view; they were approaching the town limits. 

 

Lydia sighed, peeling her eyes away from the window. She saw only him now, the light still flashing across his solace, mole-dotted face, the rest of the world mere blurs and splotches again. She smiled, delicately, like if she gave it too much effort she’d crumble, her eyes on his, even though they weren’t on hers. “They’ll always need us.” They would be out of Beacon Hills any second now. 

 

Stiles turned to face her, for just half a second, his smile as fragile as hers, and she was grateful for the breaking of her “eyes on the road” rule. “Funny…” She could feel it, the tension building, like the car was pulling a rubber band behind it, slowing them down, but it was about to snap. “…That’s exactly what Scott said.” 

 

Then, as if on cue, she caught glimpse of a few words on a sign, a pun: _“We hope you’re guided back to Beacon Hills soon!”_ , the rubber band snapped, and they shot forward. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Hour Two**

_five days, twenty-two hours, twenty minutes before she left him_

 

 

Stiles wasn't exactly sure when his and Lydia’s argument about which Starburst flavor was superior _(he was team pink, she was a fierce red supporter)_ had faded into the steady hum of the engine mixed with her rhythmic, sleepy breaths. One thing he was sure of, though, was that this melody of noise was better than anything he could’ve found scanning the radio, so he just sat there, radio off, memorizing the lyrics to his new favorite song.

 

Without her awake to scold him, he glanced over more now, gasping a bit every time, and he was sure he would give himself the hiccups soon from taking in so much air if he did not either wake her up or snap himself out of it, but he continued to willingly give up the breath in his lungs in the name of admiring her. 

 

She had her legs curled up in front of her, her head slumped against the seat, facing him; it looked like she had fallen asleep in the middle of a sentence. Stiles’ flannel really was doubling as a blanket, her thighs no longer bare, her petite hands perched over her knees, caressing the fabric. She looked _soft,_ Stiles noted- like if he reached out and touched her, her skin would give way to his fingers. The bun on the top of her head had shifted forward and turned into something ferocious, like her long locks were battling with her hair tie to escape, but it only added to the vulnerability of her current state, and Stiles felt gratitude swell in his stomach that something so gentle, so tender, could make him feel so intensely, and love him the same; and she looked so damn cute while doing it. He needed to capture the moment. 

 

Before the little Lydia on his shoulder could convince him to keep driving, Stiles switched lanes swiftly, just in time to catch the exit off of the interstate, and he flickered his eyes away from the road briefly, making sure Lydia did not have secret senses that woke her at a shift in their route. Cracking a small smile at her still fast asleep, he spotted a relatively empty Waffle House parking lot and whipped into it, remembering the U-Haul attached to the back of the vehicle only after he’d turned into a parking spot, leaving it pulled to the side like a tail on a dog. 

 

He gently grabbed his phone from the cupholder, as if that slight movement was more likely to wake her than him driving like a manic, sliding it open and to the camera instantaneously. Grinning at her picture on the screen in front of him, he held down the camera button, taking a burst of photos while the shutter sound seemed to scream out of the end of his phone, and he jumped, dropping it like it had burned his hands, leaving it to bounce off of Lydia’s knees, scorching her awake. 

 

Her head shot up, her eyes squinted as she met Stiles’ gaze, which was frozen with the rest of him, awaiting her reaction. She let out a soft groan, bringing a hand to her face, seeming to be attempting to rub the sleep off of her cheeks, before full on stretching, looking around as she lengthened her short legs out into the floorboard, and her flannel arms out behind her. She looked down, grabbing Stiles’ phone from the spot where it had landed in her seat, tossing it into his lap, all without saying a word. Finally, she peered at him again, her eyes narrowed, only this time it wasn’t because they were adjusting to the light; this time, they had that familiar, suspicious glint in their piercing green irises. 

 

“Stiles…” Lydia began, her voice as soft as she had appeared to him just moments earlier.

 

“Yes, dear?” Stiles perked up.

 

“Why the hell are we in a Waffle House parking lot?” Her tone was still as sweet as honey, but that was what bitterness tasted like with her.

 

Stiles chuckled uncomfortably, clapping a hand to Lydia’s thigh. “You just looked so cute while you were sleeping. I had to take a picture.” 

 

Lydia smiled threateningly. “You pulled off of the interstate, into a Waffle House, and parked, with our U-Haul out in the middle of the parking lot, to take a picture? Of me sleeping?” 

 

“Well, you kept telling me to keep my eyes on the road, and I couldn’t because you were just so cute, so I thought if I captured the moment I could focus better.” He shrugged, swiping a loose curl out of her eyes. It was all true.

 

Lydia’s smile softened into something less menacing, and she rubbed the back of his hand that rested on her leg. “That’s sweet.” She nodded, leaning over to peck his cheek. “Now get out.”

 

Stiles came down from the high of her lips on his face quicker than usual. “What?”

 

Lydia unbuckled, pressing her lips into a tight grin. “I’m driving the rest of the way.”

 

Stiles’ mouth fell agape as she opened the passenger door, climbing out of the car. “You’re gonna drive all the way to Ash Fork?” He asked before she closed the door behind her, watching her short frame cross in front of the car. 

She opened his door, resting a hand on her hip. “No, Stiles. I’m gonna drive all the way to D.C. Now come on, get out.”It took a moment for her words to register in his ears at the sight of his flannel flapping in the wind, along with a couple of loose strawberry blonde strands; he wanted to take another picture. 

 

“Yes ma’am.” He unbuckled, laughing as he followed her instructions, placing a kiss on her forehead before she took his spot in the driver’s seat. He caught glimpse of the Waffle House sign as he turned to cross in front of the car as she had, and caught the driver’s side door as she was closing it. “Can I at least buy us waffles while we’re here?” 

 

Lydia sighed, though the smirk on her face made it sound like a laugh. “Fine. You have five minutes, and I don’t want anything.” She pointed a finger at him, and he faked to bite it, just like before, grabbing her hand and pressing his lips to her fingertips, as gentle as she slept. Stiles ogled at her from behind her own hand as he thought: she must really love him. Why else would she let him cut into her strict travel schedule for the sake of waffles? 

 

“I’ll be back in three!” He assured her, now sprinting for the door of the diner, his chin up, eyes crinkled in a grin. _Lydia Martin loved him._ It was unbelievable, yet the realest thing he had ever known, and he was going to buy her a waffle anyway.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Hour Three**

_five days, twenty-one hours, five minutes before she left him_

 

 

“Snape was an asshole.”

 

“Snape was complex.”

 

“A complex asshole.” 

 

Lydia chuckled, tilting her head in agreement, her eyes shifting from the road to Stiles for a millisecond. “I mean, you’re not wrong.”

 

The conversation had shifted from an argument about the strawberry waffle Stiles had defiantly bought her _(though it was delicious, she had to admit)_ , to their childhood, to books, and they’d been on a downward Potter spiral ever since.

 

“Okay, but isn’t Scott, like, the most Hufflepuff-y Hufflepuff you’ve ever met in your life?” Stiles was still working on a blueberry waffle, tearing off a piece and tossing it into his mouth like popcorn. 

 

Lydia rolled her eyes, her sigh filling the cab of the car. “God, not this again. Let it rest.” She was referencing the Great Pack House Debate of 2012, spearheaded by Stiles and Kira, both of whom pulled pack members to their sides throughout the duration of the battle like they were in an actual war. It went on for a full month, and, as Lydia recalled, dominated the pack group chat, as well as their lunch table, and any gatherings they had. Eventually, there was an intervention _(spearheaded by Lydia)_ , and both Kira and Stiles were prohibited from even mentioning Hogwarts Houses within a hundred feet of each other. 

 

“I can’t, Lydia! You know Kira still thinks he’s a Gryffindor? She’s a Hufflepuff herself! It’s ridiculous. She should be stripped of her Potterhead title.” Stiles repeated the same grievances he had all those months ago, obviously still holding onto them. 

 

“Yes, I know, I still remember that movie night that turned into you two presenting PowerPoints on why you were both right.” Her eyes danced from him to the road, eyebrows sitting high on her forehead. “It was a nerd low Stiles, even for you.” She warmly teased him, a smirk tugging at her lips. She loved his nerdy tendencies, and she knew he knew it. It made her happy; like the idea of new posters on his wall.

 

“Hey, that PowerPoint was cool. It had animations.” He pointed a determined finger at her, gnawing the last bit of his waffle. 

 

Lydia grimaced, scrunching her nose. “”Cool” and “PowerPoint” do not belong in the same sentence.” She pointed a finger back at him. “And did you say Kira _still_ thinks Scott is a Gryffindor? Are you breaching the conditions of the ceasefire?” 

 

Stiles sunk into his seat, pushing his phone up to his face, the screen hovering a millimeter away from his nose. “Technically, no. We are way farther apart than a hundred feet.” 

 

“Ugh, Stiles!” She groaned, throwing her head back as far as she could without losing sight of the road. “Put your phone down, this is an intervention- part two.” She stifled giggles, blindly reaching over for his phone, missing completely. Instead, her forearm, now bare, the sleeves of Stiles’ flannel rolled up to her elbows, was caught by her boyfriend, and he started planting kisses around her wrist, rubbing her hand on his cheek, his eyelashes tickling her fingers. 

 

“I’m actually not texting Kira, thank you very much.” He spoke against her skin, and she was aware of the familiar sensation of his smile forming against her. 

 

Lydia pulled her arm back reluctantly, needing it to steer but considering just letting them crash for the sake of him holding her a second longer. “Then what were you doing?”

 

“Checking Google Maps. For traffic, ya know?” He inquired, his voice turning up at the ends, hinting at something.

 

Lydia glanced sideways at him. “How resourceful of you.” 

 

“You know us Slytherins: all resourcefulness and ambition, no heart.” 

 

Lydia frowned dramatically, pointing her pout for him to see. “Aw, you do too have a heart.”

 

“Only for you.” He leaned over the armrest to peck her on the cheek, the toothy grin she caught him dawning out of the corner of her eye proving that he knew good and well how cheesy his remark was. 

 

“Hey, Lyd?” She could still hear his grin.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Google Maps says there’s a route that only takes forty hours.” He stated casually, and she knew now what he had been hinting at before. “We’re on the route that takes forty-one.”

 

Lydia nibbled her lower lip, fighting the urge to shake her head at him. He had caught her. He had caught her wringing every last second out of their trip, had caught her grasping at their time together like it was necessary for her survival- maybe it was. Maybe, the more time she had _with_ him, the longer it would take for her to fall apart from being _without_ him; maybe.

 

“Trip time estimations can change with things like traffic and…” She peeked at him, watching his smirk spread even thinner, occupying his whole face. “Oh, shut up, Stilinski.” She resolved, her cheeks flushing slightly. She fought a smile creeping onto them until he chuckled softly, taking her hand again, lacing their fingers like they were two pieces of cloth; sewn, then torn, and now back together; and she let her smile grow the way it was meant to- because of love, and without holding back. 

 

* * *

 

 

**Hour Four**

_five days, twenty hours, five minutes before she left him_

 

Stiles tapped the seek button on the stereo, landing on a pop station, the small screen on the radio reading “ _Blurred Lines- Robin Thicke_.” 

 

“This song makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a spoon.” Lydia grumbled.

 

_Tap._ The screen now flashed _“Wide Awake- Katy Perry.”_

 

Lydia groaned, reaching over to change the station herself. “Never her.”

 

Stiles shrugged, watching _“I Write Sins Not Tragedies- Panic! At The Disco”_ slide across the radio screen, his ears perking up. “I kind of like her.”

 

Lydia shook her head, her strawberry blonde curls, now pulled into a high ponytail, lightly bouncing off of her left cheek. Stiles’ gaze inadvertently strayed to the collar of his flannel bordering her bare neck. “Of course you do.” Her eyes rolled back in that amused, unfazed way he noticed they always did at his Stiles-isms, like an open invitation for him to banter with her; an invitation he’d been honored to accept at every offering.

 

“Hey, she’s a pop icon, okay? California Gurls was everyone’s jam in 2010, don’t try to deny it.” Stiles emphatically defended himself, bobbing along to the current “jam” blasting through the speakers.

 

He watched her jaw drop, then rise, preparing her argument. “A hitmaker? Yes. _A pop icon?_ No way. That title is reserved for Gaga and Beyoncé only.” 

 

“Beyoncé isn’t even exclusively a pop artist, though.” Stiles rebutted, only slightly awed at the fact that they were really having a debate over pop stars. 

 

“Precisely! Yet she’s still better at it than anyone else who tries.” Lydia bit back, impassioned.

 

Stiles shrugged again. “I mean, you’re not wrong.” He repeated her phrase from their earlier debate, humming along to the current song as a bookend to his sentence. 

 

Lydia nodded, dawning a satisfied grin, something incredulous about her expression.“I never pegged you as a fan of pop anyway. _This_ seems like it’s more up your alley.” She pointed her eyebrows at the radio.

 

“I’m a fan of good music, Lydia.” He concluded. “And this is up everyone’s alley.”

 

Lydia let out a huff of a laugh at this, her head bobbing with contemplation. “I mean…” She took a breath, her bobbing now in tune with the beat of the music. “You’re not wrong.” 

 

Stiles grinned, reaching out to twist the volume nob all the way up. He used the dashboard as a drum set, banging his head dramatically, the bass of the music vibrating the car and only encouraging him to keep going. He kept an almost fixed gaze on her through it all, her giggles now full and liberated from their usual constraint, ringing clearer in his eardrums than any part of the actual song; and their melody was the definition of “up his alley”. 

 

* * *

 

 

**Hour Five**

_five days, nineteen hours, five minutes before she left him_

 

There was a black hole where her stomach was supposed to be. Her hunger had swallowed her internal organs straight into the threatening abyss, Lydia was sure of it. So, when Stiles suggested they pull off at the next exit for a burger, she faux-begrudgingly agreed, mumbling about the schedule and not being _“that hungry”_.

 

“What do you want?” Lydia asked as they were next in line in the McDonald’s drive-thru. _(Yes, McDonald’s. It was Stiles’ favorite, and honestly, she was too hungry to care much.)_

 

Stiles peered over her shoulder, as if he did not have the menu board memorized. “Number ten please. With Sprite.” He shot her a boyish grin that made her think he was about to ask for a toy with his Happy Meal.

 

Lydia glanced at the menu, finding number ten and turning back to him, one eyebrow slightly perched. “I thought you wanted a burger?” 

 

Stiles shrugged, slumped in his seat. “You know chicken nuggets are my weakness. I’m like Superman and chicken nuggets are my kryptonite. When chicken nuggets present themselves, I have to accept them.” He placed a hand on his heart dramatically, his eyes meeting hers with conviction. 

 

She rolled her eyes endearingly. “Can you say “chicken nuggets” one more time?” Lydia cracked a smile, biting her lip as she pulled forward, leaning out of her window to order.

 

“Chicken…” Stiles began. Lydia heard him shift behind her, but was now more focused on projecting her voice into the beaten down drive-thru speaker.

 

“Can I get a number ten, with Sprite, and…” She trailed off at the presence of heat at her side.

 

“…Nuggets.” Stiles was suddenly next to her face, whispering and nibbling at her earlobe. She chuckled, the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention at the sensation of his lips lightly brushing the base of her jaw. Stiles Stilinski was actually attempting to seduce her with chicken. Even more, it was _working_. _He_ was working, trailing kisses down her neck and cheek, sending trembles down her spine.

 

She tried to ignore him, contemplating. Did she want chicken? No, she wanted a burger. She _needed_ a burger. And fries. And a strawberry milkshake. And maybe an apple pie for later…

 

“Will that be all?” The voice screeched out of the speaker, her order typed out on the dim screen in front of her. She had ordered her burger and fries, and her shake, along with the apple pie, amidst the commotion. She felt Stiles plant one more soft kiss at her collarbone, chuckling into her, before pulling away, the absence of his heat marginally less than preferable.

 

“Uh…yeah.” She considered canceling the order, but decided against it, taking her rumbling belly as a sign from God himself. 

 

“Your total is $17.51, pull up to the next wind-.” The voice cut off, and Lydia shook her head, slowly turning to face Stiles, the tucked chin and wide eyes she had imagined manifesting as she met his smug gaze.

 

“Thought you weren’t that hungry?” His voice reeked of sarcasm, even more than usual.

 

Lydia flicked her chin up, as if the tone of his voice actually smelled, pressing the gas to pull forward as she was told. “I worked up an appetite trying to order with you breathing down my neck.”

 

She shifted her gaze to him once more, seeing his eyebrows raised, suggestive. “I know another way we could work up an appetite.” He winked ironically, and she hated the fact that she _didn’t_ hate how it just made her want to pounce on him even more. 

 

Lydia sighed, licking her lips as she turned back to her window, exchanging formalities with the cashier as she handed her the money, pulling forward once more, stopping behind the car in front of her.

 

“I have a theory…” Stiles declared, his body now facing hers, his head resting against the back of the seat. 

 

She glared at him, subconsciously scraping her teeth along her bottom lip, her eyes hovering over the bend in his biceps sticking out of his t-shirt. “What kind of theory?”

 

Stiles lifted his head, that native smug look spread across his face. “I have a theory, that we can both fit in this seat.” He gestured to the passenger seat, his legs spread, taking up all of the space.

 

Lydia pressed her lips together, brows furrowed in pensive consideration. Before she could reply, it was their turn at the pick-up window, and she was exchanging “thank you”s and “no problem”s with a worker again, retrieving their two bags worth of food, plus his Sprite and her strawberry shake. 

 

She passed the bags to Stiles, setting his drink in the cupholder between them, taking a sip of hers. The cold drink seemed to simmer the heat that had built up, and the sweet smell of her burger and fries quickly filling the small space of the car intoxicated her like alcohol. Hunger was no joke. 

 

“Food first. Then we can test your theory.” She wiggled her eyebrows a bit and bobbed her head in agreement with herself, her stomach growling once more as she pulled away from the restaurant, crossing into a less than crowded market parking lot where she stopped and turned off the car.

 

Stiles passed over her burger with no prompt, obviously ready for their experiment to begin. In seconds they were both digging into their food, Stiles shoveling chicken nuggets into his mouth like there was no tomorrow, Lydia biting into her burger, thinking how grateful she was that there was gum in one of the bags in the backseat as she tasted the onion on her breath. 

 

Lydia watched Stiles amusingly, smiling to herself as she thought about how this was something she had never even fathomed doing with any other boyfriend; but with Stiles, it felt like the most natural activity imaginable, like she was always meant to be sitting next to him, shoving fast food in her mouth so they could get to the fun part. 

 

She watched Stiles look up from his fifth nugget, cracking a side smile as his eyes landed on hers, his filled something between wonderment and humor. 

 

“You’ve got mustard…” He dropped the ketchup packet in his hand, reaching toward her, his hand cupping her cheek as he swiped a thumb over her bottom lip, both of them snickering as he patted her cheek. She leaned into his palm before he pulled away, wiping his hand on a napkin and going back to his nugget devouring.

 

Lydia kept her lips upturned, taking a break from her burger as she observed him, appreciation and giddiness overwhelming her hunger. This was them: these silly moments, simple and light, yet heavy with meaning. In these blissful instances, she forgot what it was like to be a human Geiger counter for death, and was lost in what it was like to be loved and in love. She realized, as she nibbled at a fry, surveying the scene around her, that eating McDonald’s in her car with Stiles Stilinski was the most romantic thing she could ever think of doing. _(Well, that, and making his theory a scientific law as soon as they were done.)_

 

* * *

 

 

**Hour Six**

_five days, seventeen hours, twenty-five minutes before she left him_

 

A list of things that were a good idea:

 

  * testing Stiles’ theory of both him and Lydia fitting in the passenger seat of her Prius.
  * tinted windows.



 

A list of things that were a bad idea:

 

  * downing his entire Sprite in three gulps after first said “good idea”.



 

Stiles bounced his leg and tapped the dashboard with his fingers simultaneously, studying the radio screen reading _“Everybody’s Watching Me- The Neighbourhood”,_ grateful that they had finally decided to abandon the radio for their own joint road trip playlist. They had spent the majority of the past hour adding songs _(or, rather, debating on adding songs)_ , and it was a good distraction for a while, but now, Stiles had to pee. Period. There was no distracting him anymore.

 

“Lydia, my love. Could we possibly, pretty please, maybe, take a bathroom break?” Stiles tried to soften the blow of his request with a sweet voice and puppy dog eyes.

 

Lydia shot him a quick death glare, her eyes bouncing from the road to him. “We just stopped.” 

 

Stiles’ leg bounced more violently, his fingers tapping the dash almost forming a fist. “I know, but we were a little preoccupied, if you recall.” He joked through the pain, morphing his grimace into a smirk.

 

“We’re about to cross into Arizona. Can you wait, like, half an hour?” Lydia pleaded, her tone softer, and Stiles knew her travel schedule was in the back of her mind, their estimated arrival time getting farther and farther away with every stop; for someone who chose the longer route to D.C. on purpose, she sure did seem to want to get there sooner rather than later. 

 

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a small groan. “I’m sorry Lyd, but no. No fucking way I’ll survive another five minutes.” He complained dramatically, catching a sign announcing a rest stop approaching as he pried his eyes open. 

 

Lydia practically growled. “If I stop here, will you _promise_ to quit your incessant tapping?” She had obviously seen the sign too, and Stiles sprung to attention, already halfway out of the car. 

 

“Yes. Yes, I promise I will never tap on anything ever again.” He felt like crying as they pulled into the rest stop, parking away from the rest of the cars to accommodate for the U-Haul they were tugging. “God, I love you.” He pecked her on the cheek before throwing himself out of the vehicle, sprinting toward the restroom like his life depended on it. 

 

When he emerged from the bathroom minutes later, he saw Lydia pacing languidly in front of her car, scrolling through something on her phone. He admired her like this for a second,waiting for him; his flannel flapping around her thighs like a green and red flag, waving to remind him where to come back to- as if he could ever forget. As he approached her, he saw a sign reminding passerby that they were _“Only thirty miles away from the beautiful state of Arizona!”,_ and was reminded of something he had planned for their trip since before it started. 

 

Stiles made a beeline for the Prius, ignoring Lydia’s baffled expression as he ran by her, flinging open the driver’s side door, taking her spot before she could get a word out. He buckled, starting the car, bracing himself as Lydia approached the window, pounding her open palm on the glass when she found the door locked. 

 

“Stiles! What the hell?” She yelled, her strawberry blonde ponytail hopping with anger. 

 

Stiles simply motioned for the passenger seat, not sure how well she could hear him if he tried to yell back. She widened her eyes with fury, humphing before crossing in front of the car, tugging on the passenger’s side door, pounding open-palmed again on its window when it did not open. He fumbled to unlock it, flashing her a toothy grin as she climbed in, accepting her exasperated sighs readily.

 

She settled herself, an alarmingly calm smile on her perfect pink pout. “Stiles..” She began, her inflection smooth, her long eyelashes fluttering, along with his heart. “Is there a reason you decided to kick me out of my own driver’s seat?”

 

Stiles nodded eagerly, beginning to pull out of the rest stop parking lot. “Yeah actually, and it’s gonna make you melt, Lydia Martin.” He spoke confidently, chin turned up, reaching over to take her hand in his, stroking his thumb over her delicate skin, the way he knew kept her sane.

 

Lydia pointed a noncommittal smile at him, eyes narrowed, suspicious. “I’ll be the judge of that, Stilinski.” He felt her squeeze his hand, the way that kept him sane. 

 

* * *

 

**Hour Seven**

_five days, sixteen hours, five minutes before she left him_

 

 

Lydia’s suspicions were still slightly raised at Stiles’ sudden takeover, but she kept her hand tangled with his all the same, tapping out the beat of the Arctic Monkeys song blasting through her speakers into his skin, admiring the barren terrain outside of her window; it was desolate, dry, empty. Though there were cars in front of and behind them, the scenery made her feel as if the only living things for miles were her and the person attached to the hand she was holding.

 

She caught glimpse of a blue sign approaching, on the other side of a bridge crossing over the Colorado River, and as “ARIZONA” in big white letters became more visible, along with a red and yellow illustration of a star, Stiles tore his hand away from hers, returning it to the steering wheel. Lydia studied him, his demeanor eager, a small smirk forming at the edges of his mouth, and she knew now that his reason for assuming the responsibility of driving was about to reveal itself. 

 

They crossed the bridge, the sign screaming, “THE GRAND CANYON STATE WELCOMES YOU!”, now intelligible at the bottom. The car turned sharp off of the road, and Lydia instinctively whipped her head around to make sure their U-Haul hadn’t been flung off into the desert. 

 

“Why are we stopping?” She asked simply, watching a truck zoom past Stiles’ window, grateful it wasn’t just two seconds faster. 

 

Stiles put the car in park, plucking his phone from the cupholder between them. “I’mbeing romantic. Come on.” His mouth was slanted into that natural smug smile that usually came as a warning that he was about to do something very _him_. She watched him hop out of the car, the dusty ground crunching under his converse.

 

Lydia followed suit, only partially annoyed at the fact that they’d stopped once every hour for the past three hours. They were surprisingly still making good time, so she figured she would let him have this one. After all, it was supposed to _make her melt. (Though the heat was doing that job on its own; she felt like ripping Stiles’ flannel off as soon as the boiling Arizona air touched her skin.)_

 

She met Stiles underneath the sign, and he grabbed her hand in his own, holding his phone sideways in the other. “Okay, so I have this idea. Every time we pass into a new state, we take a picture with the sign. That way, we’ll have documentation of our trip.” He wiggled his eyebrows, obviously proud of himself. “You melting yet?” 

 

Lydia used her free hand to dab at sweat beading on her upper lip. “Yes. Literally.” She squinted, partly because of the blazing sun, partly because of the sheer Stiles-ness of the idea; but that was what she loved. That was the _person_ she loved, and the fact that he had thought about preserving their time together as thoroughly as she had inundated any amount of heat or time constraint. “But you’re very sweet.” She raised herself to kiss him, placing a hand on his chest for support, smiling into his lips, giggling more than kissing. She heard his phone’s camera shutter sound go off, and broke away, one more gentle giggle escaping her lips. 

 

Beaming up at Stiles, Lydia thought of how he was constantly amazing her, yet never really surprising her; she was blown away by his gestures, and words, and _being_ , but it always felt natural, and true to who she had grown to learn he was. It was all a testament to their relationship, and who they were together: they were a contradictory statement that made sense, an oxymoron in human form. They seemed like they shouldn’t work, but they were the most functioning thing Lydia had ever known, and in the midst of these thoughts she was conveying to him with her eyes, she felt like they were not just the only living things in the desert, but in the whole universe; and maybe, for a second, they were.

 

 

An eighteen wheeler honked as it passed them, snapping Lydia out of her daze as she jumped out of her skin.

 

“Jesus Christ.” Stiles pressed a palm to his forehead, fumbling with his phone, almost sending it tumbling into the dirt below them. 

 

Lydia shook her head, feeling her heart pound under the hand she had instinctively moved to her chest, chuckling, because, _of course_. This was them. 

 

“I’m going to take that as a sign we should probably get off of the side of the road.” Lydia tapped his chest, dragging her hand down his arm, tying their fingers together in the strongest kind of knot, and lead them back to her car; directing him back to the passenger’s side. 

 

* * *

 

 

**Hour Eight**

_five days, fifteen hours before she left him_

 

 

"Check in for Martin?” Stiles watched Lydia hang over the front desk of their hotel while he handled their two overnight bags, one slung over each shoulder. They had made it to Ash Fork almost exactly when Lydia had planned for them to, though it was mostly due to her rebelling against the speed limit signs for the last hour of their drive there.

 

Stiles’ eyes danced down her back, suddenly very grateful for the private room they were about to acquire. His gaze floated up reluctantly as she took their room key from the clerk, sashaying toward him, her ponytail dancing behind her. 

 

“We’re on the bottom floor, thank God.” She announced, motioning for him to follow her out of the lobby and past the breakfast buffet, down a hall lined with doors. 

 

Stiles raised a curious eyebrow, a smirk slapped onto his face. “Why is that a good thing?” He inquired, admiring her form again as she stopped at the door to their room. 

 

Lydia swiped their key. “Because…” She began, twisting the handle as the light on the key scanner turned green. “We won’t have anyone below us to complain about noise.” She shot him a suggestive glance, sending him into a mental frenzy as she stepped into the room. It took everything in him to not throw their bags down right there in the hall. 

 

He followed her into the dark room, illuminated only by the window on the opposite side of it. There were two beds, and Stiles tossed their duffels onto the one closest to the door, knowing they wouldn’t need it. He watched Lydia hover over the bedside table separating the two, picking up a binder presumably full of room service menus and channel guides, and he walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her middle, his fingers sliding between the buttons on his flannel. He swiped her hair to one side, clearing her neck for his lips, trailing tender kisses from her jawline to her collar bone, almost agonizingly slow. A soft moan fell from Lydia’s lips, and he felt her melt into him, dropping the binder. 

 

“You know, we were pretty punctual today…” He whispered in her ear between kisses, hinting at the remark she had made in a similar situation that morning. 

 

Stiles felt her chuckle in his own chest. “Stiles, are you asking if I’m turned on?” Lydia muttered, breathier than normal, her tone all the answer he needed. 

 

“Your words, not mine.” He slipped a hand under the bottom of his flannel still hanging over her; he had admired it on her enough today- he was ready to admire it off of her. 

 

Lydia spun around to face him, the flannel halfway up her torso, his hands on her bare waist. “It’s six o’clock. The sun is still out.” She mumbled, her breath on his lips, along with her eyes. 

 

Stiles closed the gap between their mouths, kissing her in a crash, like their lips were waves fighting to get to shore. “We should probably test the bed out though, you know, before we have to sleep on it.” He quipped when they pulled away, smiling almost against her lips, their noses resting against each other; he noticed they were holding each other up.

 

Lydia cracked a smile, raising her hands to his neck, pulling him to her in a flash, obliterating any thought in Stiles’ head that did not relate to being with her in that moment, and the following moments as the flashes progressed. 

 

Needless to say, the bed checked out. 


End file.
